


Keep Your Friends Close ( And Your Family as Far Away as Possible)

by FeelingFredly



Category: Bleach
Genre: Developing Relationship, Family Bonding, Family Secrets, M/M, Mutual Pining, Yokai Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-10-28 20:54:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20784950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelingFredly/pseuds/FeelingFredly
Summary: “Relatives are the worst friends, said the fox as the dogs took after him.” – Danish ProverbLong lost relatives, yokai politics, magical turf wars...  or just another day in Ichigo's messed up life. He should never have taken up playing the shamisen.





	1. Tuesdays in the Park with Ichigo

Ichigo ducked under the branches of two pines and headed for his little corner of the garden. He’d discovered it years ago—a place to hide from kids who thought that a head of orange hair was a constant invitation to fight—and rediscovered it recently. Surrounded by hydrangea bushes, the spot was quiet and hidden from the main paths which was a necessity if he didn’t want his friends and family to “coincidentally” discover him there. It didn’t matter where they were supposed to be, whether it was work, or school or even out on a date. Yes, Orihime had even dragged Ishida into the park to “just happen to run into him” while they were on a date. The archer was not amused. But since it was Orihime, he nodded and didn’t contradict her even though Ichigo thought he was going to strain a muscle keeping his mouth shut.

The ground was soft and mossy, and since the hydrangeas were in full bloom their scent was an almost tangible thing. It was beautiful in ways that Ichigo forgot the world could be sometimes. No hollows to fight. No blood or sand or screaming. Just the flowers and the park, and today… his shamisen.

He dropped his pack carefully and knelt beside it. The long neck of the instrument still made him a little nervous when he carried it around, but it was surprisingly durable. It wasn’t like his guitar, but it wasn’t completely unlike it, either. Sort of a logical extension from one stringed instrument to another. Like learning to switch from sword to sword as Zangetsu changed. A blade was still very much a blade, even if they were all different.

There was a breeze which was nice. It had been horribly hot and humid for a week, the temperatures shortening everyone’s tempers. Yuzu and Karin had gotten tiny pink battery powered fans with attached misters they used to help them cool off while sitting in the shady patio behind the clinic, and Ururu and Jinta had started fighting over who got to wash the steps of the shōten so they could play in the water from the hose. Even Kisuke had broken down and used his lotus fan for more than hiding behind, and for once Ichigo didn’t question his clothes; the jinbei was probably the most comfortable thing he could choose, especially considering how loosely he’d taken to wearing it. Ichigo had seen more than one of the local housewives eyeing the expanse of chest he had on display, and honestly, he couldn’t blame them. It was quite a sight.

He sighed and settled on the soft earth; the shamisen perched lightly on his right thigh. Yuzu had taken the little rubber mat he used for keeping it from slipping and had cut the bright pink square into a flower shape, telling him that now it looked like a peony and it would bring him romantic love. Ichigo didn’t have the heart to tell her that it looked more like a paint spill than a peony, but he didn’t think that even peonies were likely to bring him any closer to romance so it didn’t really matter.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ romance, and if he did? Being a human/hollow/Quincy/Shinigami/Lord of Hell hadn’t gotten him anywhere with the only person he’d ever been attracted to, so he didn’t think a damned _peony_ was likely to tip the scales.

Scales. Right. 

Ichigo pulled out a Quincy blue yubikake that had somehow found its way into his bag. It was daintily embroidered on the outside with his name, and he wondered how long it had taken Ishida to make. Probably not long, but it fit perfectly over his index finger and thumb and meant that his sword callouses didn’t interfere with his playing, and every time he put it on he thought about how his mother would be happy that he was coming to accept his Quincy roots. He didn’t even mind the color. He picked up the bachi and settled the shamisen on his lap, loose and away from his body.

_Knees hip width apart. Back straight. Nose, chin, belly button in a line. Breathe._

The music came effortlessly. The old-fashioned sounds were at odds with what he normally listened to, but somehow still very right. It made sense in a way. It would fit in Seireitei. Most of the Shinigami would enjoy it more than rock and roll. For Ichigo, though, it forced him into a mental place where he could slow his thoughts as he picked his notes, allowing the music to speak for him and through him, giving emotions that he was too uncomfortable to speak of a voice of their own, even if the only place they were heard was this hidden corner of the garden.

His feelings for his family always came out first. It sounded sweet and steady, a refrain that he could almost hear in his sleep, while the music for Chad and Orihime and Ishida was stalwart and playful in counterpoint. Rukia’s music was fierce and beautiful, and the other Shinigami appeared sometimes, complex and sometimes discordant.

And then there was Kisuke.

He’d gone to visit the blond at the shōten that morning, but Kisuke had been more distracted than usual, attention taken by some new problem he’d been given by Kyouraku, and when Ichigo left he couldn’t help but feel more than a little bit invisible to the other man. Oh, it wasn’t fair of him. It wasn’t Kisuke’s fault that he wanted more attention than he was getting. Wasn’t his fault that Ichigo felt more than was returned. Ichigo wasn’t the first person to suffer from unrequited feelings, and he wouldn’t be the last.

But oh, those feelings… 

Ichigo poured them into his music, the rhythm was his breathing when the blond stood close, or the rush of blood to his face when Kisuke smiled at him. High notes danced along for the tingling in his fingertips when he longed to touch the smooth skin over Kisuke’s sternum. Long slow calls in the melody echoed the ache in his chest when the other was gone for too long.

It should have been sad. It should have felt hopeless. It didn’t.

Ichigo didn’t believe that his feelings would ever be returned, but he couldn’t regret them. He was a better person because of them, and the music reflected that deep-seated knowledge that even in times of hardship those feelings would sustain him.

He didn’t know how long he’d played; he often lost time when he was engrossed in the music. The breeze, though, had picked up, and while the sun was still bright, a wild rain shower kicked up.

Ichigo didn’t hate the rain anymore, but it still carried with it the memory of loss and the connection he had to his mother, so instead of packing everything up in a rain-soaked panic, he allowed it to pour into the music as well.

If his face was wet with more than raindrops as he played, no one else needed to know.

After the rain had stopped and Ichigo had found his way to the end of the music in his heart, he sat listening to the drip-drip-drip of raindrops off the leaves of the hydrangeas. He shook his head, hoping he hadn’t ruined his shamisen, and slowly began to gather his things.

“That was quite the performance.”

Ichigo jerked around toward the voice. He hadn’t noticed anyone else around, but there, at the edge of his clearing was an older man in a dark suit.

“At first, I was quite annoyed to find you here, it being my granddaughter’s wedding and you without an invitation and all, but then I got a good look at you. Later, when you played, the guests, every one of them, could _feel_ the truth in it. You gave my granddaughter quite a gift; it will be talked about by the family for years to come.” He bowed his salt-and-pepper head. “I thank you.”

Ichigo stared at the man for a moment, trying to make sense of what he’d said. “Your granddaughter’s wedding?”

The man nodded once and cocked his head to one side. His features were sharp and Ichigo couldn’t help but think that somehow, he looked familiar. “Yes. The family has come from far and wide to see her married today. It was a joyous occasion.”

Ichigo bowed his head politely, holding his shamisen tightly to his chest. “Please give her my congratulations and good-wishes. I did not mean to intrude. If I’d known…”

The sharp-faced man made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve already forgiven you for your trespass, but I must ask—has your family lived in Karakura long?”

Ichigo thought about trying to explain that his father was actually a banished Death God in the human realm on a whim. “My mother’s family has.”

The man nodded. “I was right, then. I’m guessing you’re Masaki’s boy. Kurosaki… _Ichigo_, yes?”

Aaaand the day kept getting stranger. “Yes. Kurosaki Masaki was my mother, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

That got him a laugh and a smile that was not much more than a baring of teeth. “Advantage is a matter of perspective. But, for now, allow me to even the field a little. My name is Hakuzosu. I knew your mother’s mother. She was the daughter of my cousin, but that was long enough ago that I won’t hold your ignorance against you. I knew the kits, ah, children had grown up around here, but I don’t get back often enough to keep in touch. There are always stories, though. The family is terribly nosy.”

Great. Not only did he give an impromptu concert for some strange outdoor wedding, but somehow it included extended family he’d never heard of, and here he was looking like a drowned rat.

“It is an honor to meet you,” Ichigo bowed low, aiming for properly polite, and thought he must’ve gotten close enough when the old man bobbed a bow in return. “I’d be quite remiss if I didn’t make up for my ignorance somehow. My family’s home is nearby…”

He was abruptly cut off. “Yes, yes. If I remember correctly Masaki tied herself to… well, to _your father_. It was quite the talk of the elders. Like you, she tended to, how shall I put it… refuse to accept others’ reality and substitute her own.” The man smiled even more toothily. “I didn’t understand her choices, but I always admired her follow-through.”

The guy clearly had less than flattering thoughts about Isshin, but then lots of people did. Hell, Ichigo did at least half the time. He wondered what the man meant about the elders, though. Ichigo fingered the yubikake he was still wearing, with its Quincy crosses, and the man shook his head. “No, boy, not those elders. Your mother had quite the family tree. It was a shame when her light was dimmed too early, but her ties to us were weak enough that even we could do nothing to save her. For that, too, I feel there must be reparations.”

Ichigo pushed himself to his feet and tucked the shamisen into the top of his open bag. This was getting too strange to take sitting down.

“I am sorry, Hakuzosu-san, but I must admit that this is all rather confusing.” He looked over the man again. His suit was clearly expensive, and he was groomed within an inch of his life. His nails were manicured, and his hair styled just so. He was wearing two rings, but neither looked like any of the magical items he’d seen in Kisuke’s books. Other than that, he looked like anyone else attending a wedding. But something felt _strange_ about him. It wasn’t any sort of spirit energy Ichigo had encountered before, but it was definitely not _normal_. The disturbing thing was that it felt faintly familiar.

“Kurosaki-san,” the man stepped closer and Ichigo was forced to look up at him. He was tall. “Is there something special—maybe something just beyond your reach—that I could possibly help you achieve?”

Kisuke’s face flashed through Ichigo’s mind, and Ichigo flushed a little. That was not something he wanted to talk to this stranger about, even if there were anything anyone could do.

“The offer is appreciated, Hakuzosu-san, but no.” He bowed deeply. “I am happy enough to have been reunited with lost family and to know that my shamisen playing didn’t ruin your granddaughter’s wedding. That is gift enough.”

He looked up at the taller man and suddenly made a connection. Ichimaru Gin. The man looked like an older version of Ichimaru Gin.

“Hakuzosu-san,” he asked a little tentatively, “you wouldn’t happen to have connections to the Ichimaru family, do you?”

The toothy grin appeared again, this time with a hint of canine a little too long for comfort. “Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised, Kurosaki-san. The family is quite prolific, and we’ve spread ourselves far and wide. I am fairly certain I’ve heard of a few Ichimarus. Why do you ask?”

Ichigo stared. That certainly put the cherry on the weird sundae of the day. “For a moment you reminded me of someone. He was an almost-friend, I guess you could say.”

Something that looked almost like sadness flashed across the older man’s face and Ichigo was fairly sure he knew about Gin’s death, whether he admitted it or not.

“Well, at least he had you as an almost-friend,” Hakuzosu said, strangely, and then bent over and picked something up from the ground between them.

“This is a pretty thing,” he said, holding up a small pale ball, larger than a pearl but smaller than a pigeon’s egg, “you must have dropped it.”

Ichigo held out his hand and the sphere was dropped into it. It _was_ a pretty thing, it almost glowed as he held it, but Ichigo had never seen it before.

“It isn’t mine, Hakuzosu-san,” he said, trying to hand it back, but the older man stepped back dropping his hands, refusing the action.

“It is now,” he said, a real smile twitching his lip. “Some of the most valuable things in life come to us through happy accidents, Kurosaki-san.”

Ichigo closed his fingers around the little ball. It felt warm and pleasant in his palm. Happy accident? Why not?

“Thank you, Hakuzosu-san,” he said with another bow, “I will keep it and remember my good luck of reconnecting with my mother’s family. Are you certain I can’t convince you—and any other members of the wedding party, of course—to come by the house for a visit? You could meet my younger sisters—they’re twins. I’m sure they’d love to hear any stories you could tell about our mother. We were all very young when she died.”

Hakuzosu pulled an old-fashioned pocket watch out of his vest pocket and made a tutting sound. “I’m afraid that I must decline, but your invitation will be remembered, and I’m sure the rest of the family will appreciate it. I suggest you pack up your things before they become irreparably damp and head back to Urahara’s. He will want to see your new acquisition, I’m sure.” His tight-lipped smile reminded Ichigo of Gin so strongly that he stepped back a pace. “And I will see you again… soon.”

The well-dressed man turned at that and disappeared through the tree branches, gone as quickly as he had appeared, the promise lingering in the air.

Ichigo looked at the—stone? —in his hand and suddenly what Hakuzosu said clicked. _Head back to Urahara’s._ He’d never mentioned Kisuke or the shōten. How did he know about them?

“Hakuzosu-san?” He pushed through the pine trees and out onto the main path of the garden. There was no one there. No wedding party. No dapper old man with salt-and-pepper hair and a knife-edged grin. What the hell was going on?

To his left, just off the path, a gray fox stared at him, mouth open in its own foxy smile and then… it just disappeared.


	2. Strange Things Are Afoot at the Circle K(urosaki)

“Tadaima!” Ichigo called out as he dropped his wet gear in the genkan. 

“Okaeri!” Yuzu stuck her head around the corner to the living room with a smile. “Ichi-nii! I was about to sit down to watch the newest episode of Princess Jellyfish. You want to watch it with me? I made popcorn.”

“Maybe next time. Where’s Karin?”

Yuzu made a face. “She’s still at soccer practice. Her coach wasn’t happy with their ‘work ethic’ during the last game, so they’re doing extra drills.”

“I thought they won?” Ichigo frowned and Yuzu shrugged.

“Apparently winning isn’t everything. Who knew?”

Ichigo shrugged back. “The world is full of mysteries.”

They stood like that for a second and then broke up laughing. Kurosakis would take winning over mysteries any day.

“So, you want to tell me why you’re all wet, or should I chalk it up to another one of the _world’s mysteries?_

Ichigo snorted. “Nothing that exciting. I was practicing my shamisen in the park and got caught in a sun shower. It wasn’t too bad, though. I managed keep the strings dry, and the breeze on the walk home helped.”

Yuzu smiled. “Oooh! I love kitsune no yomeiri. There’s something magical about that edge where two worlds mix. Much prettier than the gate to Hell, although I can’t remember that as well as I’d like. Still, it’s probably better this way. Fewer nightmares.”

Ichigo stared at her for a moment, surprised by her matter-of-fact attitude about being kidnapped and taken to Hell, but then this was Yuzu. Anyway, he’d prefer she never have nightmares at all. A faulty memory seemed a small price to pay.

“It’s strange that you mention weddings,” he pulled his thoughts back to the present. “I met someone while I was at the park. Nice older guy, but it was so weird. He said he was there for his granddaughter’s wedding, but when I came out of the little clearing where I’d been playing there wasn’t anyone there. Plus, to top it off, he said he recognized me, sort of. Said we were distant relatives through Mom’s side of the family. I didn’t even know Mom _had_ relatives outside of Ishida’s family.”

Yuzu opened her mouth and Ichigo raised a hand to cut her off. “I did! I invited them to the house as soon as he told me. He said they couldn’t come because of the wedding.”

Disappointment painted his sister’s face as he’d expected. “He did say he’d see me again soon, so I promise, if I do see him around, I’ll make sure to bring him to meet you and Karin, okay?”

Yuzu nodded gratefully and gave a half-smile. “How cool is that, though, that he knew Mom?” She looked over to where the poster hung on the wall, their mom’s happy face looking over them larger than life. “It would be nice to talk to someone who knew her so we can get to hear something other than Dad’s crazy stories. I mean, I have so many questions, you know?”

Ichigo knew.

“He said that it was a big family, so who knows! Maybe there will be cousins in the area that you can make friends with.” Ichigo stuck his hands in his pockets, fighting off the urge to give his little sister a hug, and bumped against the little stone that Hakuzosu had given him. “Oh and look at this!” He pulled it out and held it out, a shiny distraction from too many feelings. “He gave me this, too!”

Yuzu looked at the ball rolling in his palm. “Uh, Ichigo?” She stepped forward and picked the almost-pearl up gingerly. “You say he_ gave_ you this?”

Ichigo shrugged a little awkwardly. “Well, he showed up talking about the wedding and how I’d basically crashed the party with my shamisen playing.”

Yuzu gave him a sympathetic cringe and he nodded. “Yeah, I know, but he was cool about it. He said that I’d given his granddaughter a gift. It was really nice, actually, and then we were just standing there talking, and he pointed at that on the ground by my feet.” He indicated the ball. “Hakuzosu-san thought I’d dropped it. But I’ve never seen it before, and I told him so. It was pretty, though. When I picked it up it just felt…? _Nice_, you know?”

The surface shimmered under Yuzu’s fingers, and Ichigo couldn’t help feeling like he wanted to take it back.

Something in her face told him he was missing something important.

“Ichigo,” she spoke, her voice hesitant, “you know that Dad gave me and Karin Mom’s jewelry box, right?”

The jewelry box was one of their most prized possessions, filled with hairpins and little bits of jewelry that Isshin had thought safe enough for the twins to keep, and when Ichigo nodded Yuzu let out a little sigh.

“Come with me,” she said, heading towards the room she and Karin shared, “I need to show you something.”

***

“And then she pulled out this one!” Ichigo held up a second shiny sphere. “She says it was in the jewelry box after Mom died.”

The green-striped hat covered even more of Kisuke’s face than usual and the band of shadow it cast was heavy enough that his eyes were simply a suggestion of movement in the darkness. Ichigo hated that hat.

He’d been hesitant to come in the first place, and now he wished he hadn’t. Trying to explain the weird maybe-relative that looked like Ichimaru Gin was bad enough, but _Hey, look at this marble, isn’t it cool? Apparently, Mom had one just like it and the weird guy told me you’d want to see it_ made him sound crazy. Or desperate. Or both.

Kisuke reached out and touched the glowing orb on the table between them and Ichigo imagined he could almost feel the contact.

“I wondered about this, once upon a time,” he said, gently rolling the ball back and forth with only the tip of his finger, “but your mother was very good at keeping her secrets.” Kisuke peered out at him from the shadows and Ichigo realized there was a wariness there that he’d never seen aimed at him before. “Very good.”

Ichigo couldn’t argue with that; his Quincy heritage was still a mystery to him in many ways. He could only think that Masaki would have explained things to him if she’d had time. That reminded him…

“Hakuzosu wasn’t a Quincy.” Ichigo picked up his tea and tried to remember exactly what the old man had said. “I was wearing a thumb guard Ishida made for me, and as you can imagine, it’s blue and covered in little white crosses. So, when Hakuzosu started talking about Mom and how she’d upset the elders when she married Isshin, I kind of indicated the crosses and he said _No, boy, not those elders_.”

Kisuke nodded, apparently unsurprised. Ichigo wondered if he practiced that look in the mirror so that no one ever thought he was out of his depth, or if he’d simply seen so much that nothing fazed him anymore.

Or maybe he already knew about Hakuzosu and had been expecting the meeting. That would explain why Hakuzosu knew about Urahara and the shōten.

“Ever since Ichimaru’s look-alike showed up this morning, I’ve felt like I’ve been missing something. Is this another weird Soul Society thing. You’re acting like it all _means something significant_, so why don’t you just come out and tell me? Who was the guy, and why am I being set-up this time? Is Mom’s marble some weird Quincy weapon that Kyouraku has decided has to come back under lock and key or something?”

Gray eyes snapped up to his. Well, that was clearly a vote for Kisuke’s practicing in the mirror because that look was proof that _something_ fazed him.

“For once, Kurosaki-kun, any machinations occurring have nothing to do with Soul Society. Not that I blame you for jumping to that conclusion.”

The hint of frost in his tone implied the opposite. The blond didn’t like the fact that Ichigo assumed he was being manipulated again. The question was: did he dislike the assumption because it meant Ichigo was becoming harder to use, or because he didn’t like the idea of people using him at all? 

It was probably a combination of the two. Why be simple when you can be Kisuke?

“Let me see if I can translate the Urahara-ese. You believe that there _are_ machinations in the works, but you’ve eliminated Soul Society involvement, either because you’re already involved and you know they aren’t because you haven’t included them, or the little line between your eyebrows means that you’re miffed that someone else is running a scam on me without inviting you. Since the Ichimur-alike pointed me in your direction, you clearly know _something_ useful either way, and that means you’re my most likely source of information.” Ichigo leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “So, spill.” 

“Don’t forget the third option, Kurosaki-kun.” Kisuke’s voice dropped, heavy with suggestion and just a hint of threat, as he lowered his chin and hid in the darker shadows his hat cast.

He was such a drama queen.

“You mean the possibility that you’re lying to me about Soul Society being involved?” Ichigo rolled his eyes. “No. You may make me work for the truth, but you don’t lie to me anymore.” He shook his head in dismissal. “You said they weren’t involved, so they’re not involved.”

The certainty in his tone triggered an almost imperceptible response in Urahara and Ichigo couldn’t keep the satisfaction from his face. Honestly, he didn’t try very hard and the faint smile he got in response was worth it.

“I see I’m going to have to work harder on my inscrutability.” Kisuke shifted slightly, the dark and dangerous persona falling away from him like scales as it was no longer necessary, his focus shifting back on the twin spheres. “But, for what it’s worth, your summary is correct, and, again for what it’s worth, this mystery isn’t a creation of mine.”

They sat like that for a few moments until Ichigo got tired of waiting.

“Well, then, whose is it?”

Kisuke lifted Masaki’s sphere and held it up in the light. It seemed to glow from within.

“Have you ever heard of _hoshi no tama_?” he asked, sounding almost sing-song as he turned the little ball this way and that.

“Star balls? Like belong to kitsune?” Ichigo stopped as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Surely Kisuke couldn’t mean….

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He looked down at the second, egg-sized stone. Was it bigger than it was before? “Wait. Did mine grow?”

Kisuke placed Masaki’s sphere back on the table gently. They were definitely not the same size anymore, and the larger one, Ichigo’s, now pulsed with a faint light.

_Hoshi no tama_. It couldn’t be.

“Yoruichi always said there was something a little different about you, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo snorted. “You mean other than being a human-Shinigami-Quincy-hollow hybrid?”

Kisuke didn’t appreciate his humor. “Precisely. Perhaps she could tell because of her ties to bakeneko.”

Amber eyes shot wide and the blond laughed. “You didn’t think the cat-shape-shifting thing was something any Shinigami could do, did you? No. Our Shihōin Princess has yokai blood, and you, it seems, may as well.”

Yokai blood didn’t sound good. It didn’t sound good at all, but Ichigo couldn’t help but remember the stories that Masaki used to tell about wolf-like ōkami that protected little boys who kept adzuki beans and salt in their pockets as treats, and dangerous kappas who could only be defeated by clever boys who remembered to bow as deeply as possible so the monsters would spill the spirit water from the lilypad bowls they carried on their head and lose their powers. She told him about crow-like tengu who would punish the vain but could be called upon to help lost children find their way home, and tanuki who looked so jolly but would trick unwary people into parting with their food and wine with piles of money that turned out to be leaves come morning.

“Mom used to tell me stories.” He weighed his words, almost afraid to voice them but knowing that he must. “But they were just bedtime stories, Kisuke. Fairy tales. Nothing more.”

Kisuke looked at him, gray eyes bright and focused, and Ichigo could feel a flush creeping along his skin. Of course, _now_ he was interesting enough to pay attention to, but for all the wrong reasons. Again.

“Don’t give me that look,” he snapped, and the blond blinked, slowly.

“What look is that, Kurosaki-kun?”

Ichigo counted to ten. Twice. He didn’t believe that Kisuke was nearly as oblivious as he pretended, but if he insisted, the redhead would play along.

“The ‘oh look, a new experiment’ look. It reminds me of Kurotsuchi-taicho, and trust me, you wouldn’t look nearly as good in that make-up.”

Thin pink lips quirked into a sly smile, and Kisuke chuckled. “I might surprise you, Kurosaki-kun. Who do you think brought Mayuri-san his supplies when he was still in the Maggot’s Nest? Plus, I ran more than my fair share of honey-pot missions for the Onmitsukido. A steady hand with an eyeliner pencil and a good lipstick go a long way.”

The flirtatious tone fell flat, and Ichigo sighed, more frustrated than flustered for once. How did they always end up like this—snarking at each other but never actually saying anything? It was exhausting, and he didn’t have the patience for it today.

“You keep telling yourself that, Hat-and-clogs.” Ichigo picked up the two spheres and held them, one in each hand, between them. “Right now, I’m more concerned about these.”

Kisuke’s teasing smile faded. “Yoruichi might be able to give us some insight, and there’s a tanuki that visits the shōten occasionally that I could…”

“A _tanuki_?” Ichigo practically exploded. “You can’t actually mean a real tanuki? With the huge…?” he spread his fingers, unable to finish the thought.

“Testicles?” Kisuke finished the question for him, smirk back in full force. “I haven’t asked to see them, but yes I would assume so. I’ve done more than a few favors for him over the past hundred years, so he owes me, but tanuki and kitsune don’t get along very well from what I can tell.”

Ichigo frowned.

“It shouldn’t be a problem as long as Hakuzosu isn’t here, though, right?” There wasn’t another kitsune in the equation.

Kisuke took the larger sphere from his fingers and moved it slowly, watching the glimmer brighten the closer it got to Ichigo’s hand, “Well, that depends.”

Ichigo allowed the blond to drop the now glowing ball into his palm and was surprised by the rush of pleasure he got from holding it. There was something so _right_ about it, and that was definitely not right. “Depends on what?”

The older man watched him for a long moment, a hint of fascination and curiosity and maybe even a little fear in his eyes, and Ichigo couldn’t look away, wanting nothing more than to have Kisuke look at him forever, the feelings of frustration washed away by a tide of something much more potent. His breath caught in his throat and his heart beat faster as he silently cursed his stupid attraction. This was _so_ not the time.

“It depends on how much kitsune blood you’ve got flowing through your veins, Kurosaki-kun, and how the appearance of your long-lost relative has affected it.”

Ichigo groaned and dropped his hands to the tabletop with a thud. “I knew that was what you were going to say.”

The star ball glowed brighter and Ichigo tightened his fist around it.

“Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any more complicated, I have to deal with a freaking _yokai_. I swear, if Hakuzosu shows up and tries anything I’m going to kick his ass, kitsune or not.”

“Be careful, Kurosaki-kun,” Kisuke was still watching him so closely it made his skin prickle. “You don’t want to get on the wrong side of a yokai. They are far from harmless.”

“Kisuke,” Ichigo said, sitting back up in his chair and looking across at the blond in disbelief, “_nothing_ in my life has ever been harmless, and none of us would have survived if I’d played by the rules. Why should this be any different?”

The blond looked at him with an air of something approaching satisfaction. “Why indeed?”

Once again, he had the full weight of Kisuke’s attention on him, and instead of the butterflies that usually took up residence in his stomach when that happened, he felt a lead weight. He wasn’t a side-show attraction, dammit. Not even for _him_.

He held out his empty hand and Kisuke dropped the second ball in it.

“So,” Ichigo pulled in a deep breath, “you said you knew someone who might be able to help?”

Kisuke cocked his head to one side, like he was listening to a voice that was only speaking to him, and then nodded in agreement. “Yes. Shibaemon is easy enough to find. I’ll contact Yoruichi and we will track him down and see if we can’t come to an arrangement.” The blond sighed. “Last time the two of them were together they drank all the sake in three bars. Hopefully this time will not break that record.”

Knowing Kisuke he wasn’t nearly as innocent in that story as he pretended. Ichigo wished he’d been there. A tipsy Kisuke was a sight to see.

“Let me know if you need me there. I don’t want to just tag along and have your tanuki friend—fuck, I can’t believe we’re talking about real tanuki.” He forced himself to calm down. “I don’t want to show up and have him upset over some possibly real connection to kitsune.”

Kisuke agreed. “Like I said, he’s nice enough most of the time, but he is a yokai, and they’re… unpredictable.”

Ichigo snorted. “The fact that _you_ think _he_ is unpredictable is the best warning you could give me.”

Suddenly a yawn cracked the redhead’s jaws. He was exhausted.

“I need to head home. Yuzu was already upset enough with me for not managing to drag Hakuzosu back to the house to visit. She’ll kill me if I’m late for dinner.”

Kisuke reached across the table and rested one long, thin finger on Ichigo’s arm. “If I may,” he started, speaking in that casual manner that means _listen carefully_ because something significant is NOT being said, “Kurosaki-kun, it might be best if you kept your new trinket in a… safe place. I’d be happy to provide such a place—Tessai could even put a kidō trap on it to be extra cautious.”

Any other time Ichigo would have taken him up on the offer. Any other time the warmth of that finger would have burned his skin and given him fodder for weeks’ worth of daydreams. Why, then, did the idea of turning his _trinket_ over for someone else’s _safe keeping_ make him feel like he couldn’t catch his breath and like snakes were squirming in his belly?

Ichigo’s fingers tightened inexorably around the supposed star balls and he shoved them deep into his pockets and leaned back in his chair. He’d think about those feelings later. Much, much later.

“Nah, that’s okay. Yuzu will want Mom’s back ASAP, and I’ll just keep the other one with me. No need to put Tessai out over something like this. It’s just a shiny stone.” He gave a careless shrug that fooled neither of them.

Kisuke retreated into the shadow of his hat’s brim. “And if it is more, Kurosaki-kun?”

Ichigo’s fingers were still tightly wrapped around the now egg sized sphere and he gave an almost Gin-like smile.

“Hakuzosu said he’d be around, and if he _is_ a kitsune like you suspect, and this _is_ a hoshi no tama—mine _or_ his—well, it’s probably better if I don’t have to break through a kidō lock to get it if I need it. You know how Tessai hates it when I make a mess of the shop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who didn't catch it, the sun shower in Chapter One was a Kitsune no yomeiri, which translates as "the fox's wedding." According to Wikipedia: The "kitsune no yomeiri" can refer to several things: atmospheric ghost lights, a phenomenon during which it appears as if paper lanterns from a wedding procession are floating through the dark; what is commonly referred to as a sunshower; and various strange wedding processions that can be seen in classical Japanese kaidan, essays, and legends. The "kitsune no yomeiri" is always closely related to foxes, or kitsune (who often play tricks on humans in Japanese legend) and various Shinto rituals and festive rights relating to the "kitsune no yomeiri" have been developed in various parts of Japan.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's reading!


	3. In Vino Veritas (Ready Or Not, Here It Comes)

“Don’t pout, Kisuke! It makes you look like you’re barely a hundred years old. I was just saying that it isn’t a surprise. Hell, I _told_ you!” Yoruichi slapped her thigh and laughed over the fact for the sixth time. “The minute I saw that hair I knew that mother of his was a kitsune.”

Kisuke looked at his oldest friend and wondered why he hadn’t strangled her yet.

“Yes, yes,” he said, sliding another dish of sake across the tabletop towards her, “you were absolutely correct. I should never have doubted you, Sensei. No one recognizes the weird and wonderful human/yokai hybrids like you do, Sensei.”

Yoruichi snorted. “Takes one to know one.”

He snapped his fan open and waved it languidly before snarking, “I’ll remember that the next time I need someone to find track down an egotistical bakeneko for me, oh wait! All bakeneko are egotistical. That makes it _much_ simpler.”

“False modesty isn’t healthy, Kisuke,” the purple ponytail swished dramatically and Yoruichi quirked an eyebrow at him, one graceful shoulder raised in a shrug. “No one would believe that I wasn’t fabulous anyway, so why pretend? It isn’t egotism if it’s accurate.”

She tipped the shallow dish back, the sake disappearing in one smooth swallow, and set it back on the table with an audible _clack_. They’d been to three bars in the past four hours and there’d been no sign of Shibaemon.

They were running out of options. 

The territory that the tanuki claimed for themselves was well-defined, yokai being as jealous of their lands as any wolf pack, and there were only two other places with good enough sake to attract them within those boundaries. He’d had hopes that they’d get lucky with this one because of the way the woods that ran along the back of the parking area allowed tanuki to slip away undetected after a night of drinking on someone else’s tab, but so far neither the woods nor the sake had been enough of a lure to summon his quarry.

“Relax, Kisuke,” a dark hand patted his shoulder, “Shibaemon will have heard that we’re looking for him by now. It’s just a matter of being patient.”

Patience wasn’t something he struggled with; his Onmitsukido training had beaten it out of him. Add to that the fact that when you’re effectively the living dead you have a lot of time to fill, so there was little benefit to it. It was something he’d come to expect from Ichigo and his friends, so young and so human and so _very_ mortal, it made sense that they felt every minute ticking by, and yet here _he_ was scanning the room like a wanted criminal, tapping his fingers restlessly on the table, wishing that Baraggan wasn’t the only one who could control the passage of time.

Ever since Ichigo’s visit that afternoon he hadn’t been able to smother the feeling that something was coming, something big, something dangerous to the redhead and possibly others. He hadn’t felt this way during the fight against Yhwach; Ichigo would have succeeded or failed, but it would not have changed him completely. No, he hadn’t felt this way about a conflict since Ichigo had decided to destroy the Sōkyoku, the battle that had changed his life forever.

It was _not_ an auspicious association for his subconscious to be making.

Shapeshifters, as a whole, were a dangerous lot but some were more dangerous than others. Years of willingness to aid henge traversing the human world had earned him a level of respect, but early on he’d chosen to lend his talents to the bakeneko because of his ties to Yoruichi, and later, by chance, he rescued a tanuki who’d been hit by a car. His injuries were so severe that the henge was having a hard time maintaining his glamour, and recognizing the signs of an imminent shift that would unveil him to his neighbors as anything but the friendly izakaya owner he pretended to be, Kisuke swept him up and carried him off to the newly built shōten, watching over the tanuki’s business and allowing him to heal in peace until he could get back on his feet.

Shibaemon had included the store and the people in it in his territory from that point on.

A few other tanuki that visited after that, and after a while Kisuke had the unspoken protection of several of the local clans, which reduced the visits from ambitious gang members looking to expand their protection racket nicely.

“So, explain to me again why you’re panicking.” Yoruichi filled his choko from one of the tokkuri between them and nudged it closer. “You already suspected something like this about Masaki, and I’ve told you for years that Ichigo had kitsune in him. You’ve never worried about the local yokai before. Hell, you just ignored most of them, Shibaemon notwithstanding, and honestly… what’s the worst that could happen? We’re guessing this Hakuzosu is what? A five-tail? Six-tail at most? It might be a close fight, but I’d wager that Ichigo could survive anything the fox could throw at him.” She inspected a chip in the varnish on her fingernail. “Well, except for fire, but kitsune don’t normally use fire on their relatives. It’s usually saved for stupid humans.”

Kisuke raised an eyebrow, choko halfway to his lips, and looked at her, waiting for her to realize what she’d just said.

“Oh.” Golden eyes widened. “Ohhhh. Surely you don’t think…”

Kisuke swallowed his sake. “I don’t know what to think. That’s the problem. With Ichigo I never know _what_ to think.”

He’d accepted the unpredictability that came with having Ichigo around, but it didn’t sit easily. When it came to the big things he was as simple as a children’s primer, but for everything else? Kisuke might as well try to predict shooting stars.

“Thinking is overrated, Urahara-san,” a rumbling bass behind him said, “life is too short to waste it worrying over things that cannot be changed.”

Yoruichi smiled up at the newcomer. “Shibaemon-san! So glad you decided to join us! Please, have a seat, and some of this _very_ fine sake.”

The yokai cast a glance around the bar and paused before coming to a decision. “Thank you. A good drink with good friends should never be refused.”

They shifted around the little table to make room, and another choko was set out and filled to the brim with liquor.

“I was surprised to hear that you were looking for me, Urahara-san,” the tanuki reached for his drink and downed it with barely a pause in his speech, “normally I have to drag you out of the shōten for a drinking night. What is the special occasion?”

Yoruichi made a noise half-way between a burp and a laugh. “It isn’t a special occasion, Shibaemon-san, but a special person…”

Kisuke shoved a full choko into her hand and cut her off. “Maa, Shibaemon-san, it’s nothing like that. I was simply hoping that you might be able to answer a question or two for me.”

Shibaemon wasn’t a small man. He sat back from the edge of the table, legs out in front of him. His large belly was noticeable under a too tightly cut shirt that looked even tighter above a pair of very loose trousers, and his eyes were wide and innocent looking, although Kisuke knew better than to trust that.

Tanuki and kitsune both enjoyed tricking humans, and Kisuke didn’t honestly blame them—it was a satisfying pastime—but something about the way they went about it made the process seem very different. He’d never known a tanuki who truly wanted to damage the humans they tricked; if you did that, then who’d brew the sake or perform the shows they loved? No, for them it was better to take advantage in small ways.

Kitsune didn’t agree. For them, the bigger the better. They believed that rules weren’t made for them, and anyone who expected them to behave a certain way deserved exactly what they got when they didn’t.

Because they didn’t. They made “didn’t” into an art form.

A few years into his banishment, Kisuke’d had the misfortune of running into a kitsune who felt he’d been insulted by a local shop owner. It was a hot day and he was walking through town in his new gigai, green jinbei and geta already a staple of his wardrobe, and the kitsune spotted him immediately as not _actually_ human, but the kitsune, never having seen a gigai before, assumed he was another shifter, and had proceeded to share his plans for vengeance gleefully and bloodthirstily with what he thought would be a sympathetic audience.

Kisuke hadn’t explained himself and he hadn’t interfered with the kitsune’s revenge. The man’s business was ruined in months. His marriage within the year. His reputation destroyed, the man had taken his life after donating his worldly possessions to the local shrine to Inari in hopes that the kitsune would spare his son and the rest of his extended family.

Kisuke didn’t know if it had, but after hearing the kitsune vent his anger he doubted it.

The thought of Ichigo facing that kind of trouble gave him chills. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could fight with a sword, and a kitsune would not draw the line at harming Ichigo. It would target his sisters, his father, his friends… No. He couldn’t let that happen. Not if he could help it. But first he had to make sure that dealing with the foxes wasn’t going to upset his raccoon friends. The last thing he needed was for the shōten to become part of a yokai turf war. 

He could only hope Shibaemon would honor the debt he owed Kisuke and play the role of mediator rather than his usual rapscallion.

“Sake first, questions later,” the big man scratched his belly and looked longingly at the tokkuri. “I’m sure I know many things that would be worth a drink or two.”

Yoruichi filled his cup and he nodded in thanks before downing the liquid again without pause. He groaned in pleasure.

“Ah, it truly is very fine, Shihōin-san. Thank you.” She refilled his choko yet again, and he leaned back with it held hovering in front of his lips, absorbing the bouquet. “Many nights I have spent enjoying warm doburoku to chase the chill away, or drunk futsū-shu until I chased my cares away, but junmai-shu? And just for questions? They must be very special questions, indeed.”

The empty choko hit the table with a snap, followed by an expectant silence.

Kisuke rolled through everything in his mind one more time and sighed. No other choice.

“Have you ever heard of a kitsune by the name of Hakuzosu?”

Pudgy fingers twitched at the table’s edge and then reached for a tokkuri to pour a round for everyone.

“I don’t make it my business to keep track of foxes, Urahara-san,” Shibaemon’s voice was light and carefree, but tiny lines tightened at the corner of his eyes. “It isn’t wise to meddle in their business.”

Kisuke nodded and raised his cup. “And you are very wise, Shibaemon-san, of that there is no doubt. However, I do not ask anything more than if you have heard of such a one. Surely wisdom would not prevent rumors from flying, and what would be wiser than gathering loose information if it is just lying around like leaves on the ground?” He sipped his sake and tried not to hold his breath.

If Shibaemon refused to help, if he got angry, if he decided that it was an insult… no, there were too many ways it could go wrong. He had to assume it would work. 

“Urahara-san,” the big man carefully placed his choko on the table. His eyes were clear and serious, a look Kisuke’d rarely seen on the trickster. He nodded that he was listening. “Long ago there was a tale whispered among the fishwives along the coast south of Osaka. A beautiful woman would appear in town, steal the affections of the headman, wreak havoc amongst his soldiers with accusations of advances that had never happened or of thefts that never took place, and then she would disappear leaving nothing but chaos behind her. Now, you know as well as I do that jealous women may begrudge beauty, so it was _probably_ nothing more than that.” He watched Kisuke carefully. “They also spoke of floating lights that lured drunkards into the flooded fields in Ume, only to find the dead drunk simply dead come morning. Again, fishwives with nothing else to occupy their minds while their hands are busy with their wares often tell tales to make customers linger longer over their stall. Sometimes these stories included references to foxes bearing the name Hakuzosu, even telling one story about a monk at the Shorin-ji Temple who was devoted to Inari but not more than to the memory of his first love, the one who first persuaded him that humans were more than simply playthings for him to entertain himself with. It was said, although I find it _completely_ unbelievable of course, that he served in her court, the only man amongst a thousand servants. A kitsune servant? Can you believe it? As if a fox would lower himself so for anyone, even for love.”

Kisuke refilled the tanuki’s cup and received a little head bob of thanks. “It is amazing that there are so many tales to sift through. Surely Hakuzosu isn’t such a popular name amongst the foxes?”

Shibaemon sipped his drink and held Kisuke’s gaze over the lip of the cup. “No. It’s not a popular name at all; that I do know. Maybe they think it’s an unlucky name, or perhaps they are afraid of offending someone. Who knows with foxes?”

They sat in a companionable silence for a moment, then, the three cups of sake tipped and refilled, and then Kisuke took the second, steeper, step.

“You are aware that I have taken a student,” Yoruichi snorted behind her cup and Kisuke shot her a quelling glare, “a student by the name of Kurosaki Ichigo.”

Shibaemon laughed. “Urahara-san, everyone in the three realms knows Kurosaki Ichigo, and of his fondness for a particular candy shop owner. You are honored to have such a devoted… _student_.”

Kisuke felt his face heat a little, and he put down his cup. This was not the direction he wanted the conversation to go.

“He has been both a trial and a reward, as any good student should be.” His prim response elicited twin grins from his companions, and he smothered a groan. He was not going to discuss his relationship with the… _boy_. Ichigo was just a boy, even if he was the most powerful being Kisuke had ever known, and that included his Benihime, much to her dismay. “It seems, though, that Shihoin-san was correct in her assessment that there is yet more to be uncovered about Kurosaki than we suspected.”

Yoruichi took that as her cue. “Turns out Kurosaki is part kitsune—like I told this idiot forever ago—apparently his mother had more secrets than just her Quincy heritage.”

Shibaemon stiffened in his chair, and Kisuke looked at him sharply. The tanuki didn’t look nearly as surprised by the revelation as he’d expected him to be.

“I see this isn’t news to you, Shibaemon-san,” he said. He watched his sometimes friend shift under the weight of his gaze. “Perhaps you have information that you’d like to share?”

Stubby fingers scratched restlessly across a belly that looked a little bigger than before. Kisuke knew the belly was the first thing the tanuki lost control of his glamour over. If that was the case, this was disturbing the henge more than he’d let on.

“Urahara-san,” Shibaemon was almost whining, and Kisuke poured another cup of sake and slid it across the table. It was always easier to negotiate over a drink.

“Shibaemon-san,” he answered, and raised one eyebrow. “Consider this my second question.”

Backing a shapeshifter into a corner was usually a bad idea, but they’d known each other long enough to know that neither was a true threat to the other. The tanuki would either leave and possibly cut his ties to Kisuke and the shōten, or he’d share what he knew.

“You have to understand, it wasn’t my secret to keep.” Big brown eyes looked at him innocently, his hands raised and open in the universal sign of _It’s not my fault. Really._

“Whose secret was it, then?” Kisuke kept his voice even and didn’t challenge the tanuki by staring or leaning closer. Sometimes handling yokai was like dealing with skittish horses. Slow and steady worked more often than not.

“You know,” Shibaemon glanced around the room and hunched forward to whisper, “_Hakuzosu_. And it happened so long ago, I was almost positive he’d never show his face in Karakura Town again. It’s one of the reasons so many tanuki settled here. This is territory the old fox released _voluntarily_, and kitsune never give up territory without a fight. We figured it was a sign that he wouldn’t try to take it back, even if a little of his blood was still in the area.”

It made a strange sort of sense. If this kitsune had abandoned territory, there had to be a good reason.

“Do you know why he left Karakura Town?” he asked.

“This was pretty much as far east of Osaka as his kin spread. No henge would be stupid enough to move into Osaka or even Kyoto without sending an emissary and an offering to the kitsune. His family is large and very jealous of their possessions—whether they be things, territory, or humans.”

Kisuke nodded. Sounded like what he knew of kitsune.

“He had a daughter, a favorite if the rumors are to be believed, who gained her second tail before her hundredth birthday. She ran the coastline playing with any human foolish enough to think a two-tailed fox was a good playmate, until one day she was playing on a rocky outcropping above the sea and lost her hoshi no tama. She jumped in after it and almost drowned. A young fisherman found her crying, hurt, and clinging to a piece of wood, and pulled her out. He recognized at once that she was kitsune, but instead of throwing her back into the sea, he took pity on her, wrapped her up in his coat and brought her back to shore. He waited but she never shifted, because her star ball held her magic; she was trapped in fox form. She lived with him for a month, eating fish he caught and sleeping by his fire or in his bed, until one day her star ball turned up in one of his fishing nets.”

Kisuke thought about the egg-sized ball that Ichigo so jealously shoved into his pocket and wondered at how he’d react to losing it even a day after having found it. He didn’t think it would go well.

“The fisherman knew that he could keep the star ball and use it to control the kitsune, but he’d come to care for the creature. He, too, knew what it was like to be more than he appeared, forced into a life of service to something that he’d never asked for and didn’t want. He was, you see, the son of one of your Quincy. An Echt Quincy son, expected to marry and serve the Monks of Destruction, regardless of his own preferences for a quiet life on the sea.”

Shibaemon held out his choko and Yoruichi filled it again. The tanuki drained it just as quickly.

“The kitsune had listened to his tales each night, the weight of his duty clearly dragging against him but determined to live up to his family’s expectations. He could, however, prevent another magical creature from having the same fate. He gave the kitsune back her star ball and she, stunned, grabbed it and disappeared into the night, with only the fisherman’s well-wishes echoing behind her.”

“It isn’t in the fox’s nature to feel obligation, and she didn’t. However, she did feel something. Call it respect or loyalty or maybe just a greedy desire to take and keep a human. No matter what it was, she found that she couldn’t just walk away. She contemplated the situation for six nights, until an idea popped into her head, one so audacious that it was impossible for her not to pursue. She would pretend to be an Echt Quincy, using her shape-shifting ability to appear human and her magic to impersonate the Quincy ability to manipulate reishi.”

Shibaemon paused and looked at his companions. “They were married the next Spring, and they moved east to Edo. Her name was Chiyo, and his? Kurosaki Kazumori.”

Yoruichi choked on her sip of sake. “You’re kidding.”

The tanuki shook his head and saluted her with his cup, story time having apparently come to an end. “Not at all. Apparently, _first_ _protectors_ run in the family.”

Kisuke could believe it. The Quincy weren’t the most original bunch, more often tied up in their misguided dedication to blood and nostalgia than in reality. Naming their first-born sons in that way would follow.

“Poor kid never had a chance, did he?” Yoruichi said to Kisuke with a grimace before downing another cup of sake like it was water. He thought she could probably drink it in place of water all the time and no one would be the wiser.

“So, I’m assuming that Hakuzosu didn’t approve?” she asked, finally putting her cup down and leaning back in her chair.

Shibaemon shrugged. “You could say that. You could also say that the fact that the Kurosaki line continued and prospered in its own way is a sign that he actually _did_ approve. Either way, after that he was much less hands on in his kits lives. He pulled his eyes back from the edges of his territories, and the rest is, as you say, history. Some say she broke his heart. Others say kitsune have no heart. Either could be true.”

Kisuke mulled over what he’d been told. “So, if I told you that someone calling himself Hakuzosu was in Shakujii Park today, during a sunshower, for his grand-daughter’s wedding, what would you say?”

A bushy eyebrow shot up. “Well, first I’d say thanks for the warning, and I’ll pass it along to the others. Second, I’d warn you to steer clear. The old fox doesn’t like tanuki. Seems to think we lower the tone of the neighborhood, if you can believe it.”

Kisuke looked at his companion, the lazy grin on his face, one hand patting his rounded belly and the other tightly gripping his choko, and nodded. He’d guessed that much. “And what if I can’t steer clear? Is my getting involved with a kitsune going to cause trouble _for_ your clan or _with _your clan?”

Shibaemon stared at him as if he’d never seen him before. “You’re not joking, are you? This actually happened. Hakezosu was actually here.” His face stilled and then the tanuki sighed. “Look, Urahara-san, I know what you’re asking, but I can’t actually answer for anyone but myself. If Hakezosu is here, and your student is a kitsune of his line, things are likely to get… dicey. If you can control him, then I’ve got no problem. If…”

Yoruichi smacked a hand on the table and laughed. “Control him? That’s a good one. Kisuke can’t even control…”

Kisuke slipped a foot behind the front legs of her chair and jerked, tipping her off-balance just enough to stop the flow of words.

“Yare, yare, Kisuke,” she said rolling her eyes at him and resettling her chair. “You know it’s true, but I’ll stop teasing. For now.”

She wiggled her fingers at him, and Shibaemon politely ignored the by-play. “Surely, as your student he will listen to you.”

Kisuke shrugged. “Oh, he’ll listen, but that doesn’t mean he’ll do what I tell him to. Half the time he will…”

“And the other half?” the tanuki asked.

“The other half, he does exactly the opposite,” Yoruichi answered matter-of-factly. “Sometimes Kisuke tells him to do something just to get him to do the opposite, and then,_ that’s_ when he listens. It can be problematic when you’re trying to save the three worlds, but honestly it’s a pleasure to see the spider tied up in his own webs occasionally.”

She leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially, “If he’d just be honest with the kid, he’d get what he wanted every time. Poor kid is smitten, but Kisuke is too _honorable_ to pursue him, even though it’s what he wants, too!”

She said honorable like it was a dirty word, and Kisuke had to stifle a groan.

“Yoruichi-kun, haven’t we wandered off topic? This was supposed to be about dealing with Hakuzosu.”

She turned golden eyes on him and glared, her bakeneko nature clear in the arch of her back and the practically visible fur standing up in irritation. “And I told you, Ichigo can handle anything a jumped-up six-tail can throw at him, especially if you quit moping around and just tell him how you feel already. Hell, the hormone spike alone should push his reiatsu off the charts. Poor old fox-face wouldn’t know what hit him.”

The tanuki burst out laughing at that, patting his belly happily. “How I’d love to see that, but I have to say, even if you decide that confession _is_ good for the soul…”

“_And other parts_,” Yoruichi injected, sotto voce.

“Yes, and other parts,” Shibaemon’s laughter faded and he looked serious once again, “Hakuzosu is no six-tail. That is why the tanuki clans keep so far clear of him.”

“Oh?” Kisuke asked tentatively. “Is he much older than that?”

An empty choko was pushed hopefully across the table.

“I don’t know how old he actually is,” the tanuki said, “but there’s a reason he still lives in the Kinki-chihō. His beloved Himiko supposedly ruled there. In Yamatai-koku. Surely you recognize the name.”

Yoruichi stared at Kisuke, stunned. “Yamatai-koku? But that was almost two thousand years ago.”

Kisuke sighed and hid his face in his hat. A nine-tailed fox. Of course, it would have to be. Only Ichigo. “I need more sake.”


	4. Surely Not Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting

It was going to be a bad day.

Ichigo scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to erase the memory, but he knew from experience that it would linger. It always started with the dreams. Dreams of blood and screams and knowing, not just fearing but _knowing_, that the people he loved and cared for were dead, dead and gone, _dead and gone_…

In some ways it was worse than watching his mother die, because even though he’d have given his life to save her, he was nine. He was little. He was helpless. But watching Byakuya bleeding out, pleading for forgiveness… Old man Yama slashed into pieces … Kisuke… his Kisuke… bleeding, blind, and breathless in Askin’s Gift Ball hell, apologizing to him... apologizing to _him_.

And he was still fucking _helpless_.

Yes, it started with the dream, but today it ended… differently. He remembered his conversation with Hakuzosu. _Is there something special—maybe something just beyond your reach—that I could possibly help you achieve?_

An old man offering a little business advice. A grandfather willing to give a leg up in the world to someone who did his granddaughter a service. A long lost relative grateful to find a connection in a strange place.

A kitsune offering a yokai bargain.

Ichigo rubbed at his face again. No. Even if Kisuke was right and there were yokai in Karakura Town, there was no way his mother had been part kitsune. No way that _he_ could be. That _Yuzu_ and _Karin_….

And of course, there was no way he was a human/Shinigami/Quincy/Hollow, either.

What if he’d said yes? Would the old man have sprouted tails and teeth and four furry legs and given him some mystic ability to save everyone he loved? No. He’d said something about not being able to help Masaki— _her ties to us were weak enough that even we could do nothing to save her_—so, no matter what the connection, it wasn’t enough.

Nothing would ever be enough.

_You can’t save everyone, Ichigo._

He grabbed the little glowing ball off the top of his dresser and squeezed it tightly, comforted by its warmth. 

_But I can try._

He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, throwing them on as he punched a familiar number into his phone.

“Hey Grimmjow,” he said, running down the stairs. “Meet me at Kisuke’s. You owe me a rematch from last week.”

A dark laugh echoed through the line and he could just imagine the grin on Grimmjow’s face. “Just can’t get enough, can you Kurosaki?”

Ichigo snorted. “You wish. Just get your ass over there. Oh, and don’t bother with a gigai. I need to stretch a little this time.”

There was a surprised pause. “You serious?”

They hadn’t fought with Ichigo in his Shinigami form in weeks and Grimmjow had been getting impatient for a real fight. “You ever hear me offer a real fight when I wasn’t serious?”

There was another heartbeat of silence. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t make me wait, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo cracked his neck as he slipped into his shoes, just catching sight of his father coming down the stairs.

“Hey, Goat Face,” he said, opening the door, “I’m heading out. Feeling a little tense, so I asked Grimmjow to spar.”

His father shook his head. “One of these days that Arrancar is going to bring you home in a basket for me to patch up.”

Ichigo shook his head. “Nah, if it comes to that, I’ll just have him drag the pieces straight to Orihime. She’s seen it before, and she doesn’t leave scars, unlike some people I know.”

A sudden flashback to his dream, to Kisuke’s bloody face stitched up with Benihime’s horrific handiwork, left him breathless. Isshin noticed, but just nodded.

“Scars just let us know we’re alive,” he said, waving him away. “Now go on, before I decide to help the panther turn you into a cat toy.”

Ichigo nodded, thankful that Isshin didn’t start the whole _You know, Ryuuken might be a Quincy but he’s a good doctor and could help you with your PTSD_ conversation. He didn’t need to talk about what was bothering him. He just needed to keep himself in shape so he could face the _next_ threat, because if he’d learned one thing from the Shinigami, it was that there was _always_ another threat.

***

“Watch your back, Kurosaki,” Grimm shouted as he swung Pantera wide. “Getsuga isn’t going to do you any good if someone slices out your spine!”

Ichigo ducked and rolled to the side, instinctively turning away from the swing of Grimmjow’s blade.

“Yeah, well, announcing your shot isn’t going to win you any points, dumbass.” He raised the trench knife as he slid to the side, barely nicking Grimm’s side as they rolled apart. “I thought you were going to take this seriously.”

The bloody dreams were still riding him, and he could feel the helpless frustration like an itch under his skin.

Grimmjow stared across the rocky expanse, weighing something. “Didn’t think you meant it.”

Ichigo growled. “I fucking meant it. Now, stop pussyfooting around or I’ll call Orihime to fight me. At least _she_ doesn’t hold back anymore.”

The big man snorted and sonidoed away, only to appear in a flash right behind him again.

“Maybe it’s because she can put you back together after she takes you apart,” Grimmjow’s comment was laced with just enough sexual suggestion to make Ichigo laugh as he stabbed back at the leg he could reach, forcing Grimmjow to dodge instead of attack.

“Yeah, you need to work on your fantasies if you’re thinking Orihime and I are getting hot and heavy down here. First, ugh, she’s like my sister, and second… _ugh, she’s like_ _my sister_.”

Grimmjow shrugged. “I’m not going to judge. The Princess has wanted you for years. Even rocks wear down over time.”

Ichigo shuddered at the idea. “She’s traded in her crush on me for something a little more emo and a lot more irritating.”

“More irritating that you?” Grimmjow snorted. “Don’t think it’s possible.”

“Don’t tell me there aren’t any mirrors in Hueco Mundo?” Ichigo saw an opening and made a three-point shunpo pass, targeting first an ankle, then a shoulder, and then, just as he forced the bigger man to shift to where he wanted him… he flashed forward and stabbed into his shoulder, the long blade of Zangetsu piercing him like a paper target, or a butterfly on a pin.

In a real fight Ichigo knew Grimmjow would simply jerk himself free regardless of damage, but it would be a crippling blow, and that was their standard cue to call the fight. He stepped back to pull his blade free, but Grimm was faster, throwing himself away from the point, the tip forced down and further through the pectoral muscle, with an almost manic laugh.

“Fuck me, Kurosaki,” he said, grinning wildly, “you _do_ actually mean it. I thought something was different when you showed up. Something wild about you that I haven’t seen since Aizen.”

He spun, blood whipping away from his shoulder in a dark red parabola. “Show me what you got, pretty boy.”

As quick as that Ichigo was jerked from thinking the fight was over, to realizing it had just begun.

His muscles burned, stretched and pushed farther than they’d been in months, and he could hear the beating of his heart over everything. Move. _Move_. _MOVE_. Grimmjow was a blue-haired blur, the white of his jacket flickering around the boulders of the training ground, and he imagined he could hear the high-pitched cry of Pantera as she yowled for blood, for vengeance, for _pain_.

Through Zangetsu he’d always known what his opponents were feeling during battle, but Grimmjow had never sounded like this. 

“Looks like I’m not the only one who needed a good fight.” Ichigo grinned meanly. “Nel refusing to scratch your itches these days?”

Grimmjow just shook his head. “Nope. She’s still willing to throw down any time, anywhere.” A tiny red cero was forming in his off hand and Ichigo pretended not to notice. “Fighting her is different, though. Like you and the Princess.”

The red bolt shot through the empty space, and Ichigo smelled the ozone as it burned through the sleeve of his shihakusho. He understood. Fighting your sister was weird.

No words were spoken for a while, all their attention focused on attack, retreat, regroup, until they were both bleeding and breathless.

_But, not helpless,_ Ichigo thought.

Every successful strike eased the worry in his soul. Each bloodied slash that he walked away from proved that he_ could_. He could hold off an Arrancar. He could…

Then Grimmjow feinted, his sonido carrying him too close, too fast. There was no way Ichigo was going to be able to dodge. He needed more time, just two inches of clearance, but he didn’t have them. He wished, not for the first time, that he’d had just a little more of a sense of self-preservation, but he didn’t, so he just braced for the impact. It was going to suck, but hopefully Grimm wouldn’t actually slice him in two.

He breathed, imagining a different outcome, and braced himself for a pain that never came.

“Oi! Kurosaki!” Grimmjow howled across the training ground, Pantera shrieking her displeasure at having her prey stolen from her at the last second. “Where’d you fucking go?”

Ichigo took a step forward and looked around. He was behind the boulder that marked the center of the basement, the one that protected the main kidō support.

The one that was fifty feet away from _where he’d just been_.

“Over here, dumbass,” he said, trying not to sound as shaken as he felt.

He hadn’t shunpoed. He hadn’t run. He hadn’t moved at all as far as he could remember. So… how did he get _here_?

Grimmjow covered the territory between them in a blink. “The fuck was that? One minute you were there, and the next you were just fucking _gone_.”

Ichigo wasn’t about to start theorizing about it.

“You’re just slow.” He tried not to think about how his legs were shaking. “You’re losing your touch, Arrancar.”

“Don’t fuck with me, _Shinigami,_” Grimmjow spat back. “That wasn’t you just being fast. Your reiatsu, your everything, was _just not there_. I couldn’t even sense you with pesquisa! Then you popped back up over here.”

There was a high-pitched sound scratching against Ichigo’s eardrums. Pantera was hissing, howling, angry. She sounded like a cornered cat.

“Tell your sword to chill,” he said, trying to block out the noise. “She sounds like she wants to scratch my eyes out.”

Grimmjow tilted his head. “My sword?”

Ichigo jerked his chin at the curved blade resting against his leg. “Yeah. I’ve always been able to feel _you_ through Zangetsu, but today it’s been crazy, listening to her on top of it all. She’s as nuts as you are. I mean, I knew her name, but she’s never really been…”

Grimmjow grabbed the front of his shihakusho and yanked him up onto tiptoes. “You can _hear_ Pantera?”

“Yes,” he said. “Can’t you?” There was a stillness about the big man that made Ichigo pause.

“Sure,” Grimmjow shifted a little from foot to foot, letting his death grip on Ichigo’s clothes loose. “I mean, a little. Sometimes.”

Ichigo cocked an eyebrow and waited. Grimmjow wasn’t the silent, stoic type, so it didn’t take long.

“Usually have to be really calm to hear her. You can imagine it doesn’t happen all that often.” He shrugged a big shoulder. “Doesn’t explain why you can hear her, though.”

It really didn’t.

“Or that smell?” Grimmjow made a face, nose all twisted up.

“I don’t smell anything,” Ichigo said, sniffing.

“That’s ‘cause it’s you that stinks, idiot.” The Arrancar had never been one for social niceties. “You’ve smelled strange since you got here. Maybe that’s what set Pantera off--she’s looking for her Strawberry and thinks you’re some kind of imposter. She hates that. Reminds her of Aizen and his tricks.”

The blue-haired head tilted to one side and Ichigo had to force himself not to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. _Her Strawberry?_ Made a strange sort of sense that Grimmjow’s sword was just as much of a possessive freak as he was. It was nice, in a serial killer stalker kind of way. “Is Kisuke screwing around with that tanuki again?”

Ichigo groaned, a new kind of discomfort replacing the old. “_You _know about the tanuki? How come I’m the last to know?”

Grimmjow snorted, sheathing Pantera. “You’re _always_ the last to know. Haven’t you figured that out yet? But no… this doesn’t smell like the raccoon guy. He always smells like sake and leaves. This smells bitter—like old smoke, and magic.”

Old smoke and magic. Hakuzosu. Ichigo looked over to where his body was propped against the wall, the _hoshi no tama_ was still in his pocket. He could feel its warmth from across the room. Not having it with him felt like being cut off from Zangetsu. Like he was missing a part of himself.

_It’s a part of me_, he thought, the words echoing in his head but feeling terrifyingly right as he accepted them.

Suddenly it was like all the cells in his body shifted a nanometer to the left and settled into a new form. His spirit stretched and popped and relaxed back into place, loose and comfortable and ready to fight again, and he turned a sharp smile on Grimmjow.

Grimm’s eyes narrowed a fraction and Ichigo knew he was smelling something new. Something dangerous. 

He was okay with that.

“Kitsune.” The word was a whisper in the open air of the bunker, and Ichigo shrugged. Grimmjow’s eyes sparkled and he pulled Pantera from her sheath, her screaming now a deep dark thrum of hunger, and Ichigo could almost hear her chanting _mine, mine, mine_.

“Hell yeah,” he said, Grimm’s voice was almost reverent. “Better than fucking Christmas. You better hope the Princess is ready to put you back together, because I am going _to take you apart_.”

Ichigo bared his teeth in a feral grin, blinked out of existence, and reappeared halfway across the bunker. He laughed, settled in himself in a way he hadn't been in forever. "You have to catch me first!”


End file.
